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Sunday, Mar. 09, 2003 / 9:05 p.m. ~'Twas a Beautiful Day In the Neighborhoods~ I'm currently not watching the SAG awards. I can't sit and watch, I just can't, and part of me wants to. Which part? The part that used to love anything Hollywood, anything Movie, anything Television, anything Celebrity. The gowns, the hair, the jewelry, seeing the actors as themselves, but they're not themselves, they're acting. They fart and burp and shit and piss just like the rest of us, but they're made to seem better, like they smell better or something, and the pretension, the falsity, falseness, whatever, however it's said, has driven me away. I'm amazed I can sit through the Oscars at this age, but I will, no doubt, as that is THE awards show to end all awards shows. Still, I started to watch, tonight, and now I find I just can't. Maybe it's because I switched over to Nickelodeon to watch Linda Ellerbee interview the kids about the War. I saw a mention of it on CNN today (I know, what was I doing watching CNN?! Jesus God!) and decided to watch (I love Linda Ellerbee - I know, why don't I marry her? - sorry, Pee Wee Herman reference - I met her at a booksigning once, and found her very genuine and kind, highly intelligent, and I read one of her books, an autobiography, and I think she's great, really, a survivor). The show was good, short, but enlightening. One real radical kid spoke up a few times about how the world has gone insane, and one little girl seemed ready to go and kill Hussein herself! Fascinating. So now the SAG awards are playing out without me, and I'm in pain with my leg that won't bend. I was watching Ellerbee sitting crosslegged, and I thought I should be able to sit that way too, I always could, but now I have this bum leg, this leg that only bends if forced, with excruciating pain as a result, deep, burning pain, and I have no idea how to fix it. I told 'him' on the phone the other night that I need a physical therapist, and I think maybe I do. I need something, more than just time, as time is not healing all wounds. And I don't even know the wound, just the result. Ow. Pain. Today was beautiful, a really perfect temperature, whatever it was. I left the apartment, left the porch door open, left windows open, left the cats to enjoy it, and got in my little car, took the long way to the recycling center, drove through town, not on the outer perimeter thereof. Perfect. All my favorite neighborhoods, all the people riding bikes, walking, rollerblading, scootering, dogs and people and unmotorized and motorized vehicles everywhere. Blue skies, sunshine, warm, warm, warm, and flowers intown, more than out here, it's warmer where the concrete is. Dropping off recycling takes so much less time than accumulating it, and creatively stacking and bagging it. Months worth dropped off in appropriate containers in minutes. And back again, through more of my favorite neighborhoods, past my old apartment, both, all three really, thinking, "I can't believe I actually lived there!" with all three. And I can't. Four years at two, six months at one. I used to have this four year cycle, with apartments, relationships, jobs, but now I've moved past that, and I no longer know what the limits are. But it was your typical Sunday Drive, and I didn't really get out or walk around or stop to eat in a sidewalk cafe or even go to a movie, I wanted to come home, to feel the cross breeze inside, to look out at glisten-y pine needles blowing in the breeze, to eat Shu Mai with dumpling sauce, to relax. I felt so tired, it was hard to even get out at all. And I don't have to go to work tomorrow!!! Although the Girl Snout cookies should be there, so I may make a special trip. I've been sort of aching for them lately. Wishing for something sweet and cookie-y after a salty meal, but nothing is here. Wanting cookies, and knowing it's only a matter of days. I have a list of things to do, but I'd bet right now I only do one thing on the list, max. Place your bets now. I dreamed I ran into Leigh and George, my old friends, the ones who are no longer friends, and Leigh looked exactly the same, but George had long, long hair, one side white, one brown, or blonde, or light brown. Old friends should hug, but they stood far away, no forward movements, no hugs, and she had a pair of lacy crotchless panties to present me, from a trip to Germany. They sat on a coffee table between us, she said she wanted to give them to me, she'd bought them for me. I can see them as I write this. How peculiar. They were so unfriendly, it felt so awkward, a great moment, a time to re-connect, but it wasn't going to happen at all. I couldn't wait to get away. Gladys is staring at me. Sitting on the floor giving me that FEED ME NOW stare. And I'd say, "But it's not really time, you know", but it would matter not. Why am I so tired? Maybe I'll watch the end of the awards. Maybe. Nothing is happening online. I need to increase my usual sites visited. The allure is wearing thin. Cost of the War in Iraq
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